Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy

by Patricia Burroughs

  See? she said to the man who wasn’t there to hear. Without you, I can manage better than with you. I’m fine now. It was nice, Jefferson, but all good things come to an end. Ours was a little better than usual, and ended a littler harder than usual, but good ol’ Cecil always bounces back.

  “Mom?” Peter’s voice was low, urgent.

  Her head throbbed with fatigue as she turned to him. His thin form was silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Have you been sitting in here all night?”

  All night? She repeated to herself, finally noticing the pink-gold tinge peaking through the lace draperies at the window.

  “Are you sick?” He stood beside her.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “But all night?”

  She pulled him close. “No,” she lied. “I woke up early and decided to watch the sunrise. Are you hungry? How about breakfast?”

  “Pancakes?”

  “Okay, sure. Why not?”

  They walked together toward the kitchen, but then he stopped her. “Mom?”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  ~o0o~

  The light blinked on his telephone. Jeff raised his head from his arms and picked up the receiver.

  “Jeff, er... you have a visitor. A Mr. Evans.”

  “Wait two minutes, then send him in,” Jeff directed, bemused. He straightened his collar and shrugged on his suit jacket. What was Robert Evans doing at his office? A prickle of unease crawled up his neck.

  When he saw the “Mr. Evans” who entered, he sprang to his feet. “Peter? Well...well, how are you? Come in and sit down.” He fumbled over the words, and was irritated with himself for doing so.

  Peter sat across the desk from Jeff and trained his cool blue-gray eyes on him as calmly as if he were the adult with the upper hand. His hair was perfectly combed; even his cowlick was flat. Jeff recognized the scent of Cecilia’s mousse with a pang of longing.

  “Is your mother with you?”

  Peter shifted in the chair. “No. I rode the bus. I had to transfer three times.”

  “What are you doing on this side of town?”

  Peter fixed Jeff with a penetrating stare. “I think we need to talk.”

  Isn’t that supposed to be my line? Jeff thought, narrowing his eyes. He was suddenly a little warm, which he preferred to blame on his jacket.

  Peter scanned the gray and burgundy graphics on the wall. “You have a nice office.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You must be pretty well off.”

  Jeff felt an eyebrow arch, and tried hard not to show his surprise. Maybe the kid wanted a loan?

  “I mean, you’re successful.”

  Jeff decided it was safe to agree. He nodded.

  “My mother respects your opinions.”

  Jeff swallowed hard. The kid must not know about their breakup. She must be cool if she could pull that off.

  The boy’s chin raised, and for a second Jeff saw a flash of Cecilia in that stubborn chin, those rebellious eyes. He threw his thin shoulders back. “I need your help.”

  “I... I beg your pardon? Peter? Is something wrong?”

  The boy shrugged. “Sort of.”

  A light flashed and a buzzer blared on Jeff’s desk. “Damn.” He picked up the phone and snapped, “Can this wait?”

  “Well... sure.”

  His boss. He’d just blown off his boss. Jeff hung up, his mind racing. What on earth was the kid doing, asking him for help? “Come on, let’s get out of here so we won’t be interrupted.”

  As Peter followed him silently as they left the office, Jeff was aware of the stares following them. In the parking garage he finally broke the strained silence. “Peter,” he began as they climbed into the car. “I’ll help you however I can.”

  Peter fastened the seat belt. “My father wants me to come live with him and Monica.”

  Jeff gripped the steering wheel, his gut twisting. Two weeks ago he would have believed that such an arrangement would solve his biggest problem. Now he thought how much the separation would hurt Cecil. “Do you want to live with them?” he asked, starting the car.

  “I don’t know. Dad never wanted me to stay in public school, and he and Monica are talking about moving closer to some prep school that’s supposed to be pretty neat.”

  “Oh, really?” Jeff gripped the steering wheel even more tightly as he pulled onto Turtle Creek Boulevard.

  “The house they’re looking at has a room for my own mancave. Dad says he’ll pimp it out. New computer. Dual monitors. Ultimate vram. Epic speakers with a pod dock, as long as I maintain my grades, plus, they’d be in the Highland Park School District. Dad says he’s afraid I won’t reach my full potential if I stay here with Mom.”

  Son of a bitch. Jeff gunned the accelerator, throwing Peter back against the seat as a light turned green. He took a slow breath and forced himself to measure his words. “How do you think I can help you?”

  “You could tell Mom you think it’s a good idea.”

  Sure he could. And destroy any chance he ever had of marrying Cecilia. “It doesn’t make any difference what I think, and I wouldn’t presume to offer an opinion,” Jeff said. “This is between your mother and father, and frankly, I’m appalled that your father has brought you into the middle of it this way.”

  “It was my idea.”

  Jeff stared at him, stunned. So the little brat was that calculating, moving in with Robert and the ice goddess because they offered the best perks.

  He had never felt such anger toward a child.

  This was going to kill Cecilia. And Peter wanted Jeff to be the heavy. “I see,” he hissed, straining to concentrate on his driving. After another block he gave up and pulled over to the curb.

  “I don’t want to hurt my mother,” Peter said desperately. “I know how she feels about you, and if you—if you let her know—if you—” His words stumbled to a stop, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

  “If I what?” Jeff prodded, his anger difficult to conceal.

  “Are you going to marry my mother?”

  How many bombshells could the boy detonate in the span of ten minutes? “I don’t know,” he replied.

  “Who are you trying to kid?” Peter released the seat belt and grabbed the door handle. “You’re over all the time,” he said, not meeting Jeff’s eyes, “and she spends every weekend with you that we’re away.”

  “What makes you think—”

  “Good grief, I’m not stupid,” Peter shot back, twisting in the seat to face him. “She’s crazy about you. So I want to know, are you gonna marry her?” When Jeff remained silent, hope flickered in the depths of the boy’s eyes. “Or did you dump her?”

  “I didn’t dump her,” Jeff snapped. God, the arrogance of the kid!

  The boy’s shoulders slumped a bit. “If you really care what happens to my mother,” he said with determination, “you’ll help me. You’ll help me make it so it won’t hurt her,” he pleaded.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know how!” Peter said, his voice cracking. “You’re the one who knows how to make her happy, not me!”

  There was no disguising the tremble in the boy’s chin. Jeff felt something tighten reflexively inside of him, a tight hard core of pain, of pity. He knew how hard it was to hold back those tears, and for the briefest moment he found himself responding to the boy’s dilemma. Sure, Cecilia was going to be devastated, but what about Peter? If he really wanted to live with his father...

  But he had never said that, had he?

  Jeff pretended to adjust the leather cover on the steering wheel while the boy visibly fought for control. He knew better than to humiliate the kid with sympathy. His hands stilled, and he found himself staring at the boy in shock.

  He knew...

  He felt pain and pity, because looking at those stiff shoulders, those cool, arrogant eyes, that face now rigidly set and controlled again, the truth slammed
through him.

  He had been a boy just like Peter.

  And in realizing that, he knew that the kid’s words probably had little bearing on what he was actually feeling—except when Peter had said he didn’t want to hurt his mother. That, Jeff believed.

  And to what extremes would he go to keep from hurting his mother? Jeff finally realized why Peter had come to him.

  Peter would do anything for his mother. Even leave her and convince her it was his own preference, if he thought she would be happier with Jeff.

  You’re the one who knows how to make her happy.

  If the kid only knew the truth.

  “Well, are you going to help me or not?”

  Suddenly the boy’s arrogance wasn’t as galling, as abrasive. Jeff found himself laughing a little, even though it hurt. Takes one to know one. Sure it does. Which was exactly why he and the kid had hit it off wrong from the start. They had each other’s number.

  Stay away from my mother.

  Get out of my way, kid, I’m coming through.

  This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.

  Jeff started the car. “I’m going to help you,” he said.

  Relief mixed with panic swept over the boy’s face. “How?”

  “Don’t say anything to her about this conversation,” Jeff said, avoiding his question.

  “Don’t worry.” Peter’s tone was entirely too bitter for a ten-year-old child, but Jeff remembered about bitterness, too. How well he remembered sneering to hide the soft spots, acting superior to hide the gaping holes in his ego.

  “I’ve got to have time to think about the best way to handle this.” Jeff suddenly felt drained—and stupid. Incredibly stupid to have missed the truth from the beginning.

  He couldn’t stand the kid because the kid was too much like him, too piercing a reminder of his own faults. For a time Jeff drove in silence, then in spite of himself asked, “You... you really dislike me, don’t you?”

  Peter studied him for a moment, caught off guard. “I don’t know why,” he said slowly. “But yeah.”

  Jeff understood Peter’s frankness, as well. Honesty, no matter how difficult, was always the best policy. “I think I could grow to like you, Peter, despite us both.”

  “Sure you could,” Peter mocked scornfully. “You just want my mother, free and clear. It’s too bad Monica can’t stand Brad and Annie, isn’t it? Then you’d really have Mom where you want her.”

  “That’s not true,” Jeff said softly. He glanced at the boy’s sharp profile and felt his throat tighten. The tough kids who fight affection the hardest are the ones who need it the most.

  Jeff knew better than anyone that Peter didn’t need a private school nearly as much as he needed the spontaneous hugs of his mother and the blind adoration of his brother and sister. Robert was worried that Peter wouldn’t develop to his full potential as a great engineer or scientist. But Cecilia was the one who saw his potential as a great kid. “I’d better get you home.”

  Jeff parked in front of the house, fully prepared to meet a barrage of questions. He and Peter were starting up the walk, when the front door slammed open and Cecilia ran out, her purse and keys in her hand.

  “Thank God!” She grabbed Peter and gave him a quick hug. She didn’t seem surprised to see Jeff with him; she was obviously distracted, upset. “It’s Brad. His coach called. There were some broken bottles on the practice field, and they didn’t know it until he—he slid into one. It’s—it’s his leg. They’re waiting for me at the hospital—” She spun and grabbed Peter by the shoulders. “Watch Anne-Elizabeth for me. I tried to call Carol, and she’s not home, but maybe she’ll be back soon. I—I just don’t know what else to do.”

  “I’ll stay,” Jeff said quickly.

  “I can handle it,” Peter snapped. “Go on, Mom. I’ll watch her.”

  “I’ll stay,” Jeff repeated more firmly. “Unless you want us to go with you.”

  “Oh, no. Just stitches, his coach said. He said it’s just a—a lot of blood. Annie would—she’d be upset.”

  Peter shook his head and rolled his eyes. “She’d love it. I say we go.”

  “No.” Cecilia took Peter’s chin in her hand. “I’m going by myself.” She raised her gaze to Jeff and his stomach lurched.

  The shadows under her eyes were as dark as bruises. For a moment he forgot Brad, forgot the urgency that demanded she leave. Damn, he loved her beyond all reason...

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?” she said to him over Peter’s shoulder.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and try to absorb her pain. “I’m staying.”

  “Thank you.” She let go of Peter’s chin and he jerked away from her, his anger and hurt palpable in the evening air. “Its an awful imposition,” she began, then broke off. “I have to go. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

  “Lock the doors,” he called as she pulled away too fast. Not that he blamed her. His heart went with her. When he finally entered the house, Peter was nowhere in sight.

  He walked slowly down the hallway. “Hey, where’s everybody?” he called out.

  A giggle escaped from under the breakfast table.

  “I happen to be a very good seeker,” he said.

  Another giggle. Relieved to at least have a handle on this situation, Jeff made an elaborate search of the room, looking in cabinets, the refrigerator, even the aspirin drawer, before finally sinking into a chair in mock defeat. “I guess you’re too good for me,” he said, sighing. A bombardment of popcorn exploded at him from under the table. “What in—”

  Anne-Elizabeth crawled out with an empty bag of popcorn in her hand.

  “Oh!” he said in exaggerated surprise, “I thought you’d disappeared like magic.”

  “Anne-Elizabeth, pick that popcorn up,” Peter demanded from the doorway. “What kind of baby-sitter are you anyway?”

  “The worst kind.” Jeff smiled, but only to temper the edge in his. voice.

  “I’m sure,” Peter agreed glaring.

  “Okay. How about this? Why don’t you go watch cartoons?”

  “Kid stuff,” Peter sneered.

  “Or climb a tree?”

  “Get real. Come on, Anne-Elizabeth. Leave the jerk alone.” Peter grabbed his sister’s hand. “We’re going outside.”

  Anne-Elizabeth turned her limpid gaze from Peter to Jeff, uncertainly. “Did you bwing a su’pwize?” she asked Jeff.

  Jeff remembered the half can of hot, flat root beer in the car, but dismissed it. “No. I forgot. Next time, though. I promise.”

  Anne-Elizabeth’s disappointment was evident, and clutching Peter’s hand, she asked Jeff solemnly, “Did you know you’re a jerk?”

  “So I’ve been told,” Jeff answered with equal solemnity as Peter dragged her through the back door.

  Then he heard a soft thumping and saw Ralph’s tail wagging against the floor. “Got your head under the chair again?” The tail wagged faster. “Considering what goes on in this house, I don’t blame you. But you’re safe now. I’m not the one who bites.”

  He grabbed a banana and walked out on the back porch, Ralph ambling beside him. Spying the kids beside the doghouse under one of the pecan trees, he waved. Anne-Elizabeth waved back, but Peter ignored him and called to Ralph. Jeff shrugged and went back into the house.

  The house felt strange to him. No toys were strewn in his path. Cecil’s music wasn’t blaring. He found it difficult to breathe. Just being here wrenched him with a pain he couldn’t bear.

  He’d change her mind.

  He’d agree to her terms.

  He’d do anything, just to have her back.

  And having made that resolution, he found the air came a little easier into his lungs. He wanted her to need him, and she did. There was no purpose in groveling in it. She didn’t even have to admit it herself. He knew she needed him whether she knew it, or wanted to know it, or not. Wasn’t that enough?

  The singing in his veins told him it was.

  He g
lanced around this hodgepodge house that was hers, and the assurance that he could tolerate, hell, maybe even enjoy it, nestled more firmly in him.

  He thought of Brad, his leg, Cecilia’s agony, and paced nervously. The smaller the injury, the more likely they’d spend a long time in a cold waiting room while more serious emergencies were seen. He wished they’d come home. He wanted to tell her what a fool he was, to take her time, to feel right about everything. Because suddenly his assurance was so strong, he found he had the patience to wait. She’d come around. She had to.

  He sank into her easy chair, trying to adjust his body to the soft contours that had molded themselves to her shape. He propped his feet on the ottoman tentatively, finding he fit better than he would have thought. This was a nice place to spend a quiet moment. Surely there were quiet moments, even with the heathens around.

  Suddenly it occurred to him that the kids had been unusually quiet. He rose abruptly and headed for the back door, only to catch a sharp blow in the forehead when the heavy door swung into him. Before he could react, Peter’s pale face appeared around the edge of the door.

  “Hurry up! You’ve got to come quick before she falls. I told her to come back down, but she kept going higher.”

  Jeff dashed out of the house then stopped short. His gaze was drawn to the splash of purple, the tiny mop of red hair. Anne-Elizabeth was wedged high in the uppermost branches of the tree, and she was crying.

  “How did she get up there?” he demanded.

  “She—she must have climbed on top of the dog house to reach the branches.” Peter’s voice broke off in a sob. “That’s the way Brad and I do it.”

  But Jeff was no longer listening. He reached up and grabbed a limb, hoisting himself up. “It’s okay, angel,” he called out soothingly, fighting to keep the fear out of his voice. “Just be real still. I’m coming up to get you.” But even as he spoke the words, he felt his panic rising. She was up high in the tree where he knew the branches would be too thin to support his weight.

  “Hold on,” he called, working his way higher, testing each branch before settling his weight on it. As he climbed, he fought to keep from looking down. Tree climbing had never been his forte. A branch groaned under his foot. He caught the trunk and held on desperately, staring at the little girl who was still very much out of his reach.